My Artistic Journey (AKA Frodo’s Death Complex)


Back when we were all young-uns, we drew. It was what we did.

Then we grew up. Most people stopped drawing, but I didn’t. I liked it, and I saw no reason to stop. I was always able to count my friends on one hand, so I never really cared about being weird. I accepted that one early on.

So draw I did, and draw I do.

However, it hasn’t always been an easy road. “Live by the comics, die by the comics,” I believe the old adage goes.

The early years: Man, I suck at this

Like most kids, I sucked at drawing, no matter what my parents said. I knew it, they knew it, and my drawings knew it. And the saddest part was that I was a tracer back then. That means I traced stuff instead of at least trying to draw it myself.

And it still sucked.

I couldn’t even trace right. I taped down the paper, used the thinnest of tracing papers, used heavy lights, and even got a special “tracing kit.” Didn’t help. My tracings were worse than the 85% of deviantArt that makes people not like to talk about deviantArt.

So I quit. I was nine or ten, I think, but I was beyond frustrated that I couldn’t even trace something right. I think I was trying to break away from it at the time, too, so I could actually take credit for the spasming spawn of my flailing sausage pencil holder thing.

It was awful; I actually paid attention in class!

Then, thanks to a friend, I tried drawing again. It wasn’t pretty, but it was as if I peed on an electric fence and the shockwave traveled up the stream and brought new life into me.

I was an artist, through and through, I realized then. So I took up the pencil once more, and stopped tracing stuff.


The middle years: Wow I suck at this

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your outlook), I can’t find any of my drawings from back then, and I’ve been searching long and hard because I want to redraw something from back then and see just how much I’ve grown. But, until I find something, we’re stuck with random ramblings like this every week.

Anyway, then came middle school. I still sucked at drawing. High school, same thing.


Nowadays: Wow I still suck at this

Then came college, where I received the most brutal critique of my comics from my very first art professor. It was so bad that I quit making comics (again) and nearly gave up all artistic endeavors.

Then, a year later, I happened to try to draw a comic again, and, once again, lightning struck my heart. This time it burst into flame, and I realized my purpose: to draw comics. I finally learned how to do it the right way (ie. where it doesn’t completely suck).

Well, at least I’d like to say that. But, really, they just kind of suck. That is a step up from completely sucking, though, so I’m definitely moving up on the suckitude scale. Yippee for me.

Anyway, I guess I should wrap this up. Here’s a comic about how I spent math class in ninth grade:


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